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ADDRESS 


UNVEILING    OF    THE    STATUE 

OF 

COLONEL    PRESCOTT, 

Bunker  Hill,  June  17,  1881. 


BY 


EOBEET    C.    WINTHROP. 


ADDEESS^--^-^^-^-'--^'^'^ 


THE    UNVEILING   OF   THE   STATUE 


OF 


Colonel  William  Prescott, 

ON     BUNKER     HILL, 
June  17,  1881. 


BY 

ROBERT     C.     WINTHROP. 


CAMBRIDGE : 
JOHN    WILSON    AND     SON. 

2Smbcrstts  ^rcss. 
1881. 


ADiDEESS. 


Fellow-Citizens  :  — 

I  CANNOT  assume  the  position  which  belongs  to  me 
to-day,  as  President  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument 
Association,  and  enter  on  the  discharge  of  the  duties 
which  devolve  upon  me  in  that  capacity,  without  first 
giving  expression  to  my  deep  sense  of  the  honor  of 
an  office,  which  has  been  held  heretofore  by  so  many 
distinguished  men. 

Fifty-eight  years  have  now  elapsed  since  this  Asso- 
ciation received  its  Charter  of  Incorporation  from  the 
Legislature  of  Massachusetts.  During  that  period  its 
Presidency  has  been  held,  successively,  by  the  gallant 
Revolutionary  patriot,  John  Brooks ;  by  the  illustrious 
defender  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  Daniel 
Webster ;  by  the  grand  old  Boston  merchant  and  phi- 
lanthropist, Thomas  Handasyd  Perkins ;  by  that  ster- 
ling statesman  and  admirable  Governor,  Levi  Lincoln ; 
by  that  eminent  and  learned  jurist  and  Judge,  William 
Prescott ;  by  the  amiable  physician.  Dr.  Abner  Phelps; 
by  the  accomplished  and  independent  editor,  Joseph  T. 


157497 


/■^Bt'ifclifiJf^Biam ;  by  the  worthy  and  faithful  historian  of 
the  Association,  George  Washington  Warren ;  and, 
lastly,  by  the  devoted  and  excellent  Historian  of  the 
battle  itself,  and  of  everything  relating  to  that  battle, 
—  including  "  The  Siege  of  Boston,"  "  The  Life  of 
Warren,"  and  "  The  Rise  of  the  Republic,"  —  our  la- 
mented friend,  whose  name  I  cannot  pronounce  with- 
out a  fresh  sense  of  his  loss  to  us  and  to  the  history 
of  his  country,  —  Richard  Frothingham. 

If,  my  friends,  at  the  termination  of  the  brief  service 
on  which  I  can  look  back,  and  the  certainly  not  longer 
service  to  which  I  may  look  forward,  my  own  name 
shall  not  be  thought  unworthy  of  such  associations,  I 
shall  count  it  to  have  been  among  the  crowning  distinc- 
tions of  a  life  now  drawing  to  its  close. 

One,  only,  of  my  predecessors  is  left  among  the  liv- 
ing, —  Mr.  Warren,  —  whose  term  of  service,  as  I  may 
not  forget,  equals  those  of  all  the  others  put  together, 
and  whose  presence  is  thus  welcomed  with  peculiar 
interest  on  this  occasion. 

One,  only,  of  those  predecessors  was  present,  as  a 
witness  and  as  an  actor,  at  the  conflict  which  our  mon- 
ument commemorates,  —  John  Brooks,  of  Medford, — 
remembered  well  by  some  of  us  as  a  model  governor  of 
Massachusetts,  but  in  1775  a  young  Major  in  Colonel 
Frye's  regiment;  who  aided  the  heroic  Prescott  in  the 
construction  of  the  redoubt ;  who  was  his  chosen  com- 
panion in  that  midnight  stroll  upon  the  shore,  to  make 
sure  that  the  British  sentinels  had  taken  no  alarm  and 
were  still  crying  "  All 's  well ; "  and  who  only  left  this 
hill,  at  last,  to  bear  a  message,  on  foot,  from  Prescott 
to    General  Ward  at  Cambridge,  —  across  that  Neck 


of  fire,  on  which  the  veteran  Ponieroy,  while  willingly 
exposing  his  own  life,  would  not  risk  the  life  of  a 
borrowed  horse,  amid  the  ceaseless  storm  of  shot  and 
shell  which  was  sweeping  over  it  from  floating  bat- 
teries and  from  fixed  batteries,  from  the  Lively  and  the 
Falcon  and  the  Glasgow  and  the  Somerset  and  the 
Cerberus;  —  a  message,  not  asking  to  be  relieved  by 
other  troops,  for  Prescott  scorned  the  idea  that  the 
men  who  had  raised  the  works  had  not  the  best  right, 
and  were  not  the  best  able,  to  defend  them,  but  a 
message  imploring  those  reinforcements  and  supplies, 
of  men,  of  ammunition,  and  of  food,  which  had  been 
promised  the  night  before,  but  most  of  which  never 
came,  or  came  too  late.  That  was  the  perilous  ser- 
vice performed  by  our  first  presiding  officer.  That 
was  the  ordeal  to  which  he  was  subjected.  I  may 
well  congratulate  myself  that  no  such  crucial  test  of 
courage  has  been  transmitted  as  an  heirloom  of  this 
Chair,  or  is  prescribed  as  an  indispensable  qualifica- 
tion of  those  who  occupy  it. 

For  those  who  have  succeeded  Governor  Brooks,  it 
has  been  privilege  and  pride  enough  to  assist  in  the 
erection  and  preservation  of  this  noble  shaft ;  in  com- 
memorating from  year  to  year  the  patriotism  and  hero- 
ism of  the  men  who  fought  this  first  great  battle  of 
the  American  Revolution ;  and  in  illustrating  the  prin- 
ciples and  motives  which  inspired  and  actuated  them. 
This  duty  —  I  need  hardly  say  —  has  been  discharged 
faithfully  and  fully  in  the  past,  and  but  little  remains 
to  be  done  by  any  one  hereafter.  The  inspiration  and 
influence  which  have  already  proceeded  from  these 
silent  blocks  of  granite,  since  they  were  first  hewn  out 


A 


from  yonder  Quincy  quarries,  —  as  they  were  slowly 
piled  up  through  a  period  of  eighteen  years,  to  the 
height  of  two  hundred  and  twenty-one  feet,  and  as  they 
have  since  stood  in  their  majestic  unity  and  grandeur, 
—  can  never  be  over-estimated.  The  words  which 
have  been  uttered  at  its  base  and  around  it,  from  the 
first  magnificent  address  of  Daniel  Webster,  the  orator 
alike  of  the  corner-stone  and  of  the  capstone,  down  to 
the  present  hour,  have  been  second  to  no  other  inspi- 
ration or  influence,  since  those  of  the  battle  itself,  in 
animating  and  impelling  the  sons  to  emulate  the  glory 
of  their  fathers,  and  to  be  ever  ready  and  ever  resolved 
to  jeopard  their  lives,  on  the  high  places  of  the  field, 
in  defence  of  Union  and  Liberty. 

For  indeed,  my  friends,  this  stately  obelisk  is  no  mere 
mute  memorial  of  the  past,  but  a  living,  speaking  pledge 
for  the  future,  that  those  free  institutions  for  which 
the  first  great  struggle  was  made  here,  at  the  very 
point  of  the  bayonet,  shall  here  and  always  find  glad 
and  gallant  defenders,  whenever  and  wherever  those 
institutions  shall  be  assailed.  It  is  not  a  structure  — 
thanks  to  those  who  designed  and  built  it  —  capable  of 
being  desecrated  or  perverted  —  as,  alas  !  the  Old  South 
has  been,  and  the  Old  State  House  still  is  —  to  pur- 
poses of  gain  or  traflfilc.  It  occupies  ground  on  which 
no  speculation  would  ever  dare  to  encroach,  or  even  to 
cast  a  rapacious  or  a  covetous  eye.  Its  simple,  massive 
masonry  may  defy  any  less  unimaginable  convulsion 
than  such  as  has  recently  overwhelmed  the  poor  island 
of  Chios.  Not  a  Monolith  ;  not  of  any  mythological 
or  mythical  origin ;  there  will  be  no  temptation  for 
archaeologists  to  dislocate  it  from  its  rightful  surround- 


ings,  and  bear  it  away  to  strange  and  uncongenial 
climes.  Here,  on  the  very  spot  where  Prescott  fought 
and  Warren  fell,  it  will  stand  and  tell  its  wondrous 
story  of  the  birth  of  American  Liberty,  in  plain,  dis- 
tinct, unmistakable  characters,  to  the  thousands  and 
tens  of  thousands  and  hundreds  of  thousands  who  shall 
visit  it  or  gaze  upon  it,  for  as  many  centuries  as  the 
equivocal  hieroglyphics  of  the  obelisk  of  Alexandria, 
now  so  marvellously  translated  to  the  Central  Park  at 
New  York,  have  told  the  story  of  Egyptian  despots 
or  dynasties. 

How  different  a  story !  What  gratitude  to  God  and 
man  should  swell  our  hearts  at  this  hour,  as  such  a  con- 
trast is  even  suggested, — as  we  turn  from  the  contempla- 
tion of  Pharaohs  and  Ptolemies  to  that  of  our  august 
and  only  Washington,  and  from  the  darkness  of  Pagan- 
ism to  the  glorious  light  of  Christianity !  Formal 
Doxologies  may  disappear  from  Revised  New  .Testa- 
ments,—  as  they  ought  to  disappear  if  not  found  in 
the  original  text  of  the  Sacred  Volume,  —  but  they 
will  never  fail  to  be  breathed  up  to  the  skies  from  mil- 
lions of  pious  and  patriotic  hearts,  from  generation  to 
generation,  for  the  blessings  of  civil  and  religious  Free- 
dom, until  those  blessings  shall  cease  to  be  enjoyed 
and  appreciated ! 

And  nowj  fellow-citizens,  in  hailing  the  return  of  a 
day,  which  can  hardly  be  counted  of  inferior  interest  or 
importance  to  any  day  in  the  whole  illuminated  calendar 
of  the  American  Revolution,  and  in  welcoming  you  all, 
as  it  is  my  official  province  to  do,  to  its  renewed  obser- 
vance on  these  consecrated  Heights,  I  have  no  purpose 


6 

of  entering  upon  any  detailed  historical  discourse.  The 
17th  of  June,  1775,  as  its  successive  anniversaries  come 
round,  from  year  to  year,  will  never  be  overlooked,  nor 
ever  fail  to  awaken  fresh  emotions  of  gratitude  and  joy 
in  every  American  breast.  But  the  more  formal  and 
stately  commemorations  of  the  day  may  well  succeed 
each  other  at  considerable  intervals.  Our  magnificent 
Centennial  celebration,  with  all  its  brilliant  incidents  and 
utterances,  is  still  too  fresh  in  our  remembrance,  and  in 
the  remembrance  of  the  whole  country,  to  bear  any  early 
repetition.  Nor  would  we  forget,  if  we  could  forget, 
that  other  Centennial  celebrations  are  now  rightfully  in 
order. 

The  year  '75  belonged  peculiarly  to  Massachusetts, 
—  to  Lexington,  and  Concord,  and  Bunker  Hill.  The 
whole  nation  recognized  our  claim.  From  the  East 
and  the  West,  from  the  North  and  the  South,  alike,  — 
to  yonder  plains  of  the  first  blood,  and  to  this  hill  of  the 
first  battle,  —  the  people  were  seen  flocking  in  numbers 
which  could  not  be  counted.  Citizens  and  soldiers  of 
almost  every  variety  of  military  or  civil  association ; 
representative  organizations  and  representative  men ; 
mayors  of  cities,  governors  of  States,  senators  and  cabi- 
net officers,  the  President  of  the  United  States  to  one  of 
them,  and  the  Vice-President  to  both,  came  gladly,  at 
the  call  of  Massachusetts,  to  unite  with  her  in  her 
sumptuous  and  splendid  ceremonials.  Six  years  only 
have  since  elapsed,  during  which  we  have  rejoiced  to 
see  other  States,  and  other  cities  and  towns,  in  New 
York  and  New  Jersey,  in  Vermont  and  Pennsylvania, 
in  North  Carolina  and  South  Carolina,  and  I  know 
not  where  besides,  holding  high  holidays  on  the  hun- 


dredtli  anniversaries  of   events   which  have  illustrated 
their  own  a-nnals. 

Another  great  year  of  oiir  Lord  and  of  Liberty  has 
at  length  arrived,  and  is  already  far  advanced ;  and  the 
attention  of  the  whole  country  is  now  justly  turned  to 
that  momentous  Southern  campaign  of  1781,  which 
began  with  the  great  battle  of  the  Cowpens, — just 
celebrated  so  worthily,  —  and  which  ended  with  the 
surrender  of  the  British  Army  to  the  allied  forces  of 
America  and  France  at  Yorktown.  I  need  not  say  that 
all  our  hearts  ought  to  be,  and  are,  with  our  brethren  of 
the  South,  as  they  are  so  eagerly  preparing  to  celebrate 
the  great  events  which  occurred  on  their  own  soil.  We 
should  shrink  from  anything  which  might  even  seem 
like  competition,  by  renewing  a  general  and  costly 
celebration  here.  Rather  let  our  sympathies  be  freely 
offered,  and  our  contributions  be  liberally  remitted,  to 
them ;  and  let  us  show  how  heartily  we  unite  with  them 
in  their  just  pride  and  exultation,  that  the  soil  of  the 
Old  Dominion  was  privileged  to  be  the  scene  of  the 
crowning  victory  of  American  Independence.  And  may 
the  blended  associations  and  memories  of  Yorktown  and 
Bunker  Hill  supply  the  reciprocal  warp  and  woof,  for 
weaving  afresh  any  ties  of  mutual  respect  and  mutual 
affection  which  may  have  been  unstrung  or  loosened 
by  the  storm  of  civil  war,  and  which  may  still  remain 
snarled  and  tangled,  and  for  renewing  those  chords  of 
brotherhood,  and  those  bonds  of  Union,  which  shall  be 
as  imperishable  as  the  glories  of  our  common  Fathers ! 

I  have  said,  fellow-citizens,  that  I  did  not  come  here 
to-day  to  deliver  any  elaborate  or  exhaustive  historical 


8 

discourse.  Indeed,  where  could  I  turn,  —  even  if  it  were 
expected  or  desired  by  any  one  that  I  should  describe 
in  detail  the  struggle  which  has  made  this  hill  so  his- 
toric and  so  hallowed,  —  where  could  I  turn  for  any 
materials  which  have  not  already  become  hackneyed  and 
threadbare,  and  which  are  not  as  familiar  as  household 
words  to  those  who  surround  me^  No  battle  of  its  size, 
or  of  any  size,  the  world  over,  from  Marathon  to  Water- 
loo, or  earlier  or  later,  on  either  side  of  the  ocean,  has 
been  more  thoroughly  investigated,  and  more  minutely 
depicted,  than  that  which  took  place  here  one  hundred 
and  six  years  ago  to-day.  Of  all  its  antecedents  and 
inducing  causes,  —  the  Stamp  Act,  the  Writs  of  Assist- 
ance, the  British  Regiments,  the  Boston  Massacre,  the 
Tea  Tax,  the  Tea  Party,  the  Boston  Port  Bill,  Lexing- 
ton, Concord,  —  of  which  one  of  them  all,  has  a  single 
fact,  a  single  tradition,  a  single  illustration,  eluded  the 
research  of  our  historians  and  antiquarians,  our  orators 
and  poets'?  And  as  to  the  conflict  itself,  —  to  which  they 
all  pointed  and  led,  like  so  many  guide-posts  or  railway 
tracks  to  a  common  and  predestined  terminus,  —  what 
could  be  added  to  the  brilliant  chapters  of  Bancroft, 
the  thrilling  sketch  of  Washington  Irving,  the  careful 
illustrations  of  Lossing,  the  elaborate  and  faithful  narra- 
tive of  Frothingham,  and  the  earlier  and  most  valuable 
history  of  Dr.  George  E.  Ellis,  who  made  even  Froth- 
ingham his  debtor "?  Meantime,  as  I  am  but  too  con- 
scious, the  rhetoric,  as  well  as  the  record,  has  been 
drawn  upon  to  the  last  dreg.  Not  only  have  Webster 
and  Everett,  again  and  again,  condensed  and  crystal- 
lized all  the  great  scenes  and  incidents  and  emotions 
of  the  day  in  those  consummate   phrases  and  periods 


9 

of  theirs,  which  defy  all  rivalry,  and  supply  the  most 
inspiring  and  wholesome  declamation  for  all  our  schools, 

—  but  the  whole  story  was  told  again,  with  signal  feli- 
city and  skill,  in  all  the  fulness  of  its  impressive  details, 
by  the  Orator  of  the  Centennial,  General  Devens,  whose 
presence  is  always  so  welcome  in  his  native  Charles- 
town. 

No  one,  I  think,  with  such  histories  and  field-books 
and  hand-books  at  command,  and  who  has  not  wholly 
neglected  such  sources  of  information,  can  come  up  to 
these  consecrated  heights,  to  this  Mons  Sacer  of  New 
England,  on  this  day  or  on  any  day,  without  finding  the 
whole  scene  unrolling  itself  before  his  eye  like  some 
grand  stereoscopic  panorama.  He  recalls  the  sudden 
gathering  of  the  three  selected  Massachusetts  regiments, 

—  with  the  little  Connecticut  fatigue  party  under  the 
intrepid  Knowlton,  —  in  front  of  General  Ward's  head- 
quarters at  Cambridge,  on  the  evening  of  the  16th  of 
June.  He  sees  Prescott  taking  command,  agreeably  to 
the  order  of  the  Commander-in-chief.  He  hears,  as 
through  a  telephone,  the  solemn  and  fervent  prayer  of 
President  Langdon,  before  they  moved  from  the  Com- 
mon. He  takes  up  the  silent  march  with  them,  just  as 
the  clock  strikes  nine,  and  follows  close  by  the  side  of 
those  two  sergeants,  bearing  dark  lanterns,  behind  Pres- 
cott leading  the  way.  He  halts  with  them  after  crossing 
to  this  peninsula,  as  they  approach  the  scene  of  their 
destination,  and  shares  their  perplexing  uncertainties  as 
to  the  true  place  for  their  proposed  intrenchments.  He 
is  here  with  them  at  last,  on  this  very  spot,  with  nothing 
brighter  than  starlight,  thank  Heaven,  when  they  first 
arrived,  to  betray  them  to  the  British  in  Boston,  and 


10 

with  only  a  little  "  remnant  of  a  waning  moon "  after- 
wards. He  hears  and  sees  the  first  spades  and  pickaxes 
struck  into  the  now  sacred  sod  just  as  the  Boston  clocks 
strike  twelve,  —  giving  their  ominous  warning  that  the 
night  is  far  spent,  that  the  day  is  at  hand,  that  four 
hours  at  most  remain  before  the  darkness  shall  be  gone, 
when  they  and  their  works  must  be  exposed  to  the 
view  and  the  assault  of  the  enemy.  But  he  sees  a 
thousand  strong  arms,  every  one  with  a  patriot's  will 
behind  it,  steadily  and  vigorously  improving  every  in- 
stant of  those  hours ;  and  the  dawning  of  that  bright 
midsummer  St.  Botolph's  day  finds  him  standing  with 
Prescott,  within  an  almost  finished  redoubt  of  six  or 
seven  feet  in  height,  inclosing  a  space  of  eight  rods 
square,  and  swarming  with  the  sons  of  Liberty. 

But,  alas,  the  panorama  is  but  half  unrolled.  Crim- 
son folds,  not  altogether  the  reflections  of  a  blazing,  fiery 
sunshine,  begin  to  show  themselves,  as  the  vision  of  our 
imaginary  visitor  proceeds.  He  witnesses  the  amaze- 
ment and  consternation  of  the  British  sentinels  on  ship 
and  shore,  as  they  rouse  themselves  and  rub  their  eyes 
to  descry  the  rebel  intrenchments  which  have  sprung 
up  like  a  prodigy.  He  hears  the  angry  and  furious 
cannonade  which  bursts  forth  at  once  from  the  dogs 
of  war  anchored  in  the  stream.  He  walks  the  parapet 
with  Prescott,  to  give  confidence  and  courage  to  his 
soldiers,  as  they  see  one  of  their  number,  for  the  first 
time,  shot  down  and  dying  at  their  side.  He  perceives 
the  hurried  preparations  in  Boston ;  he  sees  the  dra- 
goons galloping  with  orders  from  the  Province  House 
to  the  camp  on  the  Common ;  he  hears  the  rattle  of 
the   artillery   wagons    along  the   pavements.     The   big 


11 

barges  for  transportation  come  at  length  in  sight,  with 
the  glittering  brass  six-pounders  in  their  bows,  and 
crowded  from  stem  to  stern  with  grenadiers  and  light 
infantry  and  marines  in  their  gay  scarlet  uniforms. 
He  sees  them  landing  at  yonder  Morton's  Point,  and 
coolly  refreshing  themselves  on  the  grass  for  an  encoun- 
ter with  our  half-starved  and  almost  wholly  exhausted 
raw  militia.  The  first  onset,  with  its  grand  and  triumph- 
ant repulse ;  the  second  onset,  while  Charlestown  is  now 
blazing,  and  amid  every  circumstance  and  complication 
of  horror,  but  with  its  even  grander  and  still  more  tri- 
umphant repulse,  —  these  pass  rapidly  before  his  exult- 
ing eye.  An  interval  now  occurs.  "  Will  they  come 
on  again  ? "  is  heard  on  the  American  side.  ^'  It  would 
be  downright  butchery  for  us,"  is  heard  from  some  of 
the  British  soldiers  on  the  other  side.  And,  certainly, 
the  pluck  of  old  Mother  England  was  never  more  sig- 
nally displayed  on  our  soil,  or  on  any  other  soil  beneath 
the  sun,  than  when  General  Sir  William  Howe,  as  brave 
in  the  field  as  he  was  sometimes  irresolute  and  unskilful 
in  strategy,  with  Brigadier  Pigot  as  his  lieutenant,  and 
with  Sir  Henry  Clinton  as  a  volunteer,  led  up  what 
remained  of  grenadiers  and  light  infantry  —  their  knap- 
sacks stripped  from  their  backs,  and  relying  wholly  on 
their  bayonets  —  to  that  third  terrific  onslaught,  which 
comes  at  last  to  sear  the  very  eyeballs  of  any  actual, 
or  even  imaginary,  beholder.  But  there  was  pluck  at 
the  top  of  the  hill  as  well  as  at  the  bottom,  or  on  the 
way  up, — bone  of  the  same  bone,  flesh  of  the  same 
flesh,  blood  of  the  same  blood, —  the  valor  of  Old  Eng- 
land, inflamed  and  electrified  by  the  spirit  of  Liberty, 
in  the  heart,  mind,  and  muscle  of  New  England. 


12 

Prescott  with  his  little  band  is  seen  standing  un- 
daunted at  bay  ;  displaying  still  and  ever,  —  as  Eben- 
ezer  Bancroft,  of  Tyngsborongh,  a  captain  in  Bridge's 
regiment,  who  fought  bravely  and  w^as  wounded  at  his 
side,  bore  special  witness  that  he  had  displayed  through 
the  hottest  of  the  fight,  —  a  coolness  and  self-possession 
that  would  do  honor  to  the  greatest  hero  of  any  age. 
But,  alas,  their  ammunition  is  exhausted,  and  the  British 
have  overheard  that  it  is.  The  very  last  artillery  car- 
tridge has  already  been  broken  up  and  distributed  to 
the  sharpshooters,  and  there  are  but  fifty  bayonets  for 
the  whole  remaining  band,  —  hardly  a  hundred  and  fifty 
of  them  left.  The  grenadiers  and  marines  are  already 
seen  scaling  the  ramparts.  The  brave  but  rash  Major 
Pitcairn,  who  had  given  the  first  fatal  order  to  fire  at 
Lexington,  and  who  was  now  the  first  to  enter  here, 
falls  mortally  wounded.  But  hundreds  of  his  men  are 
close  behind  him,  and  bayonets  and  clubbed  muskets 
are  now  making  a  chaotic  scene  of  carnage  and  havoc 
which  beggars  all  imagination.  The  redoubt  can  no 
longer  be  held  against  such  desperate  odds,  and  the 
voice  of  its  wise,  as  well  as  fearless,  commander  is  at 
length  heard,  giving  the  word  to  retire. 

The  battle,  indeed,  still  rages  at  earthworks  and  at 
rail-fences,  —  almost  a  separate  engagement,  —  where 
Stark  and  Pomeroy  and  Knowlton  have  been  doing  such 
gallant  service  from  the  beginning ;  and  where  Putnam, 
who  had  advised  and  accompanied  the  original  move- 
ment, and  had  displayed  every  attribute  of  his  heroic 
nature  in  promoting  its  successful  prosecution,  in  almost 
every  stage  of  its  progress,  is  seen  still  striving  to  make 
a  last  stand  on  the  neighboring  hill-top,  and  to  cover 


13 

the  retreat  of  his  brave  comrades  from  the  redoubt. 
But  all  this  is  auxiliary  and  incidental,  as  it  all  is  vain. 
It  is  one  and  the  same  battle,  in  its  inception  and  in  its 
close.  The  day  is  decided ;  the  conflict  ended ;  and 
Prescott,  among  the  very  last  to  quit  the  intrenchments, 
having  resolved  never  to  be  taken  alive,  and  parrying 
the  thrusts  of  British  bayonets  by  dint  of  his  trusty 
blade,  comes  out,  with  garments  scorched  and  pierced, 
but  himself  providentially  unscathed ;  and  he  may  now 
be  seen,  on  the  final  fold  of  our  imaginary  panorama,  at 
the  head-quarters  of  General  Ward,  at  Cambridge, — 
from  which  he  started  the  evening  before,  —  to  report 
that  he  had  executed  his  orders,  had  made  the  best 
fight  in  his  power,  and  had  yielded  at  last  only  to 
superior  force. 

Such,  fellow-citizens  and  friends,  are  the  faint  outlines 
of  a  picture  which  passes  rapidly  along  before  any  toler- 
ably instructed  eye,  as  it  looks  out  on  these  surround- 
ings, —  impressing  itself  on  retina  and  lens  as  vividly 
and  distinctly  as  Boston's  Centennial  pageant  last  au- 
tumn, or  Harvard's  Greek  Play  last  month,  was  im- 
pressed on  every  eye  which  witnessed  either  of  them. 
Such  a  picture  is  enough  for  this  occasion.  These 
Charlestown  Heights,  of  which  it  might  almost  have 
been  said,  as  Virgil  said  of  the  afterwards  famous  Alban 
Mount,  — 

"  Turn  neque  nomen  erat,  nee  honos,  aut  gloria  Monti,"  — 

which  then  had  neither  glory  nor  honor,  nor  even  dis- 
tinct and  well-defined  names,  —  Bunker  Hill  and  its 
dependent  slope.  Breed,  —  were  lost  to  us  on  that  day. 


14 

The  consequences  of  the  battle,  and  even  the  confused 
details  of  it,  developed  themselves  slowly.  It  took 
time  for  an  immediate  defeat  to  put  on  the  aspect 
and  wear  the  glories  of  a  triumph.  I  doubt  not  that 
some  of  the  old  Mandamus  Councillors  in  Boston  went 
to  their  beds  that  night,  thinking  what  a  fine  conspic- 
uous site  this  would  be,  for  setting  up  a  monument  of 
solemn  warning,  for  all  time  to  come,  of  the  disasters 
which  were  sure  to  fall  on  the  heads  of  Rebels  against 
British  rule !  Even  by  our  own  New  England  patriots 
the  result,  we  are  told,  was  regarded  at  first  not  with- 
out disappointment  and  even  indignation ;  and  some 
of  the  contemporary  American  accounts,  private  and 
official,  are  said  to  have  been  rather  in  the  tone  of 
apology,  or  even  of  censure,  than  of  exultation.  No- 
body for  years,  adds  Frothingham,  came  forward  to 
claim  the  honor  of  having  directed  this  battle. 

No  wonder  that  a  cloud  of  uncertainty  so  long  rested 
on  the  exact  course  and  conduct  of  this  eventful  action. 
Every  one  was  wholly  occupied  in  making  history : 
there  was  no  leisure  for  writing  history.  It  was  a  sudden 
movement.  It  was  a  secret  movement.  It  was  designed 
only  to  get  the  start  of  the  British  by  an  advance  of 
our  line  of  intrenchments.  No  one  imagined  that  it 
would  involve  a  battle,  and  no  adequate  provision  was 
made  for  such  an  unexpected  contingency.  The  very 
order  for  its  execution,  —  the  order  of  Ward  to  Pres- 
cott,  —  the  only  order  from  any  one,  or  to  any  one, 
relating  to  it,  was,  without  doubt,  designedly  withheld 
from  the  order-book  of  the  Commander-in-chief  at 
Cambridge.     It  certainly  has  never  been  found. 

Meantime,   one    incident   of  the    conflict   had   over- 


15 

whelmed  the  whole  people  with  grief.  The  death  of 
Warren,  the  President  of  the  Provincial  Congress,  the 
Chairman  of  the  Committee  of  Safety,  the  only  chief 
executive  magistrate  which  Massachusetts  then  had, 
and  who,  only  three  days  before,  had  been  chosen  one 
of  the  major-generals  of  her  forces,  —  in  the  bloom  of  his 
manhood,  "  the  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  State," 
beloved  and  trusted  by  all,  —  could  not,  and  did  not, 
fail  to  create  a  sorrow  and  a  shock  which  absorbed 
all  hearts.  The  fall  of  glorious  John  Hampden  at 
Chalgrove  Field  is  the  only  parallel  in  history  to  that 
of  Joseph  Warren  at  Bunker  Hill.  That  thrilling  la- 
ment, —  almost  recalling  the  wail  of  David  over  Absa- 
lom,—  to  which  Webster  gave  utterance  here  in  1825, 
making  the  whole  air  around  him  vibrate  and  tremble 
to  the  pathos  of  his  transcendent  tones,  and  leaving 
hardly  an  unmoved  heart  or  an  unmoistened  eye  in 
his  whole  vast  audience,  —  was  but  a  faint  echo  of  the 
deep  distress  into  which  that  event  had  plunged  all 
New  England  fifty  years  before.  But  though  one  of 
Warren's  proudest  distinctions  will  ever  be,  that  he  came 
to  this  hill  as  a  Volunteer,  before  he  had  received  any 
military  commission,  and  that  he  nobly  declined  to  as- 
sume any  authority,  —  when  Putnam  proposed  to  take 
his  orders  at  the  rail-fence,  and  again  when  Prescott 
offered  him  the  command  at  the  redoubt,  —  his  name 
was  long  associated,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  with 
the  chief  leadership  of  an  action  to  which  he  had  come 
with  a  musket  on  his  shoulder,  —  though  he  may 
have  exchanged  it  for  a  sword  before  he  fell. 

Everything,  indeed,  was  in  doubt  and  confusion  at 
that  moment.      Even  Warren's   death  was   not  known 


16 

for  a  certainty  at  Cambridge  for  several  days  after  it 
occurred,  and  as  late  as  the  19th  the  vote  of  the 
Provincial  Congress,  providing  for  the  choice  of  his  suc- 
cessor, spoke  of  him  as  of  one  "  supposed  to  be  killed." 
All  our  military  affairs  were  in  a  state  of  transition, 
reorganization,  and  complete  change.  The  war  was  to 
be  no  longer  a  local  or  provincial  war.  The  Conti- 
nental Congress  at  Philadelphia  had  already  adopted 
it  as  a  war  of  the  United  Colonies  ;  and,  on  the  very 
day  on  which  Warren  fell,  they  had  drawn  up  and 
ratified  a  commission,  as  General  and  Commander-in- 
chief  of  all  such  forces  as  are,  or  shall  be,  raised  for  the 
maintenance  and  preservation  of  American  Liberty,  for 
George  Washington,  of  Virginia.  Congress  had  heard 
nothing  about  Bunker  Hill,  when  this  Providential  ap- 
pointment was  made.  Lexington  and  Concord,  of  which 
the  tidings  had  reached  them  some  weeks  before,  had 
been  enough  to  ripen  their  counsels  and  settle  their 
policy.  And  now  the  public  mind  in  this  quarter  was 
too  much  engrossed  with  the  advent  of  Washington  to 
Cambridge,  and  the  great  results  which  were  to  be 
expected,  to  busy  itself  much  with  the  details  of  what 
was  considered  a  mere  foregone  defeat. 

It  was  only  when  Washington  himself,  hearing  at 
New  York  or  Trenton,  on  his  way  to  Cambridge,  of 
what  had  occurred  here,  had  expressed  his  renewed  and 
confirmed  conviction  that  the  liberties  of  America  were 
now  safe  ;  it  was  only  when  Franklin,  hearing  of  it  in 
France,  wrote  to  his  friends  in  London,  "Americans 
Avill  fight ;  England  has  lost  her  colonies  forever ;  "  it 
was  only  when  Gage  had  written  to  Lord  Dartmouth 
that  "  the  rebels  are  not  the  despicable  rabble  too  many 


17 

have  supposed  them  to  be.  .  .  The  number  of  killed 
and  wounded  is  greater  than  our  forces  can  afford  to 
lose.  .  .  The  conquest  of  this  country  is  not  easy.  .  . 
I  think  it  my  duty  to  let  your  Lordship  know  the  true 
situation  of  affairs  ; "  it  was,  certainly,  only  when  from 
all  the  American  Colonies  there  had  come  voices  of 
congratulation  and  good  cheer,  recognizing  the  momen- 
tous character  of  the  battle,  the  bravery  with  which  it 
had  been  fought,  and  the  conclusive  evidence  it  had 
afforded  that  the  undisciplined  yeomanry  of  the  country 
were  not  afraid  to  confront  the  veteran  armies  of  Old 
England  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet  in  defence  of  their 
rights  and  liberties  ;  —  it  was  only  then,  that  its  true  im- 
portance began  to  be  attached  to  the  battle  of  Bunker 
Hill,  as  the  first  regular  battle  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion, and  the  most  eventful  in  its  consequences,  — 
especially  in  those  far-reaching  moral  influences  which 
were  to  be  felt,  and  which  were  felt,  to  the  very  end  of 
the  war. 

A  much  longer  time"  was  to  elapse  before  the  record 
of  that  day  was  to  be  summed  up,  as  it  has  recently 
been,  by  the  latest  and  highest  authority  on  "  the 
Battles  of  the  Revolution,"  as  "  the  record  of  a  battle 
which  in  less  than  two  hours  destroyed  a  town,  laid 
fifteen  hundred  men  upon  the  battle-field,  equalized 
the  relations  of  veterans  and  militia,  aroused  three 
millions  of  people  to  a  definite  struggle  for  National 
Independence,  and  fairly  inaugurated  the  war  for  its 
accomplishment."  ^ 

Let  me  not  omit,   however,  to   add,   that   no    more 

^  "  Battles  of  the  American  Revolution."  By  Colonel  Henry  B.  Car- 
rington,  U.  S.  A. 

S 


18 

impressive,  or  more  generous,  or  more  just  and  welcome 
tribute  has  ever  been  paid  to  the  men  and  the  deeds 
we  are  commemorating  to-day,  than  that  which  may  be 
found  in  the  "  Memoirs  of  the  Southern  Campaign  of 
the  Kevolution,"  where  an  incidental  allusion  to  Bunker 
Hill  concludes  with  these  emphatic  words :  "  The  mili- 
tary annals  of  the  world  rarely  furnish  an  achievement 
which  equals  the  firmness  and  courage  displayed  on  that 
proud  day  by  the  gallant  band  of  Americans ;  and  it 
certainly  stands  first  in  the  brilliant  events  of  our  war. 
When  future  generations  shall  inquire  where  are  the 
men  who  gained  the  highest  prize  of  glory  in  the  ardu- 
ous contest  which  ushered  in  our  nation's  birth,  upon 
Prescott  and  his  companions  in  arms  will  the  eye  of 
history  beam." 

These  are  the  words  written  and  published  seventy 
years  ago  by  Henry  Lee,  of  Virginia,  the  gallant  com- 
mander of  the  famous  Cavalry  Legion,  known  familiarly 
as  "  Light  Horse  Harry,"  and  the  father  of  one,  whose 
purity  of  character  and  brilliancy  of  accomplishments 
compelled  each  one  of  us  who  knew  him  to  exclaim, 
as  the  late  war  for  the  Union  went  on,  "  Talis  quum 
sis,  utinam  noster  esses ! "  Would  we  could  call  so 
grand  a  leader  ours ! 

Frothingham  has  told  us  truly,  that  no  one,  for  years, 
came  forward  to  claim  the  honor  of  having  directed  this 
battle.  And  there  was  at  least  one  man, — .of  whom 
Everett  well  said,  "  The  modesty  of  this  sterling  patriot 
was  equal  to  his  heroism,"  —  who  never,  to  the  end 
of  his  life,  made  any  boastful  claim  for  himself;  who 
was  contented  with  stating  the  facts  of  that  eventful 
day  in  reply  to  the   inquiries  of  John  Adams,   and  in 


19 

repeated  conversations  with  his  own  son,  and  who 
then  awaited  the  judgment  of  history,  —  letting  all  con- 
siderations of  personal  fame  and  personal  glory  go,  in 
the  proud  consciousness  of  having  done  his  duty. 

And  now,  fellow-citizens,  we  are  gathered  here  to- 
day to  pay  a  long-postponed  debt,  to  fulfil  a  long- 
neglected  obligation.  We  have  come  to  sanction  and 
ratify  the  award  of  history,  as  we  find  it  in  the  pages  of 
Ellis  and  Irving  and  Frothingham  and  Bancroft,  to 
mention  no  others,  by  accepting  this  splendid  gift  from 
a  goodly  company  of  our  fellow-citizens,  of  whose  names 
Dr.  Ellis,  I  believe,  —  to  whose  inspiration  we  primarily 
owe  it,  —  is  the  sole  depositary ;  and  by  placing  the 
statue  of  Colonel  William  Prescott  in  the  very  front  of 
our  noble  monument,  —  thus  recognizing  him  in  his 
true  relation  to  the  grand  action  which  it  commemorates, 
and  of  which  he  was  nothing  less  than  the  commander. 
We  do  so  in  full  remembrance  of  those  memorable 
words  of  Webster,  which  have  almost  the  solemnity 
and  the  weight  of  a  judicial  decision :  "  In  truth,  if  there 
was  any  commander-in-chief  in  the  field,  it  was  Prescott. 
From  the  first  breaking  of  the  ground  to  the  retreat,  he 
acted  the  most  important  part ;  and  if  it  were  proper 
to  give  the  battle  a  name,  from  any  distinguished  agent 
in  it,  it  should  be  called  Prescott's  Battle." 

Our  celebration  to-day  has  this  sole  and  simple  end ; 
and  it  becomes  me  therefore,  my  friends,  to  devote  the 
little  remnant  of  my  address  to  a  brief  notice  of  the  career 
and  character  of  the  man  we  are  assembled  to  honor. 

Descended  from  a  good  Puritan  stock  which  had  emi- 
grated from  Lancashire  in  Old  England,  and  established 
a  home  in  New  England,  as  early  as  1640,  he  was  born 


20 

in  Groton,  in  the  good  old  county  of  Middlesex,  on  the 
20th  of  February,  1726.  Of  his  boyhood,  and  common- 
school  education,  there  are  no  details.  But  soon  after 
arriving  at  manhood,  we  find  him  occupying  a  tract  of 
land,  —  a  few  miles  beyond  the  present  limits  of  Groton, 
—  a  part  of  which  may  have  been  included  in  a  grant 
from  the  town  to  his  father,  Hon.  Benjamin  Prescott,  for 
valuable  services,  but  a  part  of  which  is  said  to  have 
been  purchased  of  the  Indians, —  then  numerous  in 
that  region,  —  and  which  his  great-grandson  still  holds 
by  the  original  Indian  title.  Here  he  was  more  or  less 
instrumental,  with  the  patriot  clergyman  of  the  parish, 
Joseph  Emerson,  who  had  served  as  a  chaplain  under 
Sir  William  Pepperell,  in  having  that  part  of  Groton 
set  off  into  a  separate  district,  and  named  Pepperell,  in 
honor  of  the  conqueror  of  Louisburg. 

Meantime,  the  soldierly  spirit  which  belonged  to  his 
nature,  and  which  had  been  called  into  exercise  by  the 
proximity  of  the  savages,  had  led  him  as  early  as  Oc- 
tober, 1746,  —  when  the  approach  of  a  formidable 
French  fleet  had  created  a  consternation  in  New  Eng- 
land, —  to  enlist  in  the  company  of  Captain  William 
Lawrence,  and  march  for  the  defence  of  Boston.  A 
few  years  later  he  takes  the  office  of  a  lieutenant  in  the 
local  militia,  and,  in  1755,  proceeds  with  his  regiment 
to  Nova  Scotia.  Serving  there  under  General  Winslow, 
his  gallantry  attracted  special  attention,  and  he  was 
urged  by  the  General  to  accept  a  commission  in  the 
regular  army.  Declining  this  off"er,  he  returned  home 
to  receive  the  promotion  to  a  captaincy.  A  happy 
marriage  soon  followed,  and  he  remained  for  nearly 
twenty  years  as  a  farmer  and  good  citizen  at  his  Pep- 


21 

perell  home ;  —  as  Addison  said  of  some  one  of  the 
heroes  of  his  "Campaign,"  — 

"  In  hours  of  peace  content  to  be  unknown, 
And  only  in  the  field  of  battle  shown." 

But  the  controversies  with  the  mother  country  were 
by  no  means  unobserved  by  him.  The  bill  for  shutting 
up  the  port  of  Boston,  with  the  view  of  starving  the 
people  into  submission  and  compliance,  signed  by  the 
King  on  the  31st  of  March,  and  which  went  into  opera- 
tion on  the  1st  of  June,  1774,  stirred  the  feelings  and 
called  forth  the  succors  of  the  whole  continent.  Letters 
of  sympathy  and  supplies  of  provisions  poured  in  upon 
our  Boston  Committee  of  Correspondence,  in  answer  to 
their  appeal,  from  every  quarter.  The  earliest  letter  but 
two,  in  order  of  date,  was  signed  William  Prescott, 
dated  Pepperell,  4th  of  July,  by  order  of  the  committee 
of  that  always  patriotic  town,  —  sending  at  once  forty 
bushels  of  grain,  promising  further  assistance  with  pro- 
visions and  with  men,  and  invoking  them  "  to  stand  firm 
in  the  common  cause."  The  cause  of  Boston  was  then 
the  cause  of  all. 

But  the  untiring  research  of  the  historian  Bancroft 
brought  to  light  for  the  first  time,  some  years  ago,  a 
still  more  important  and  memorable  letter  from  Pres- 
cott, in  behalf  of  his  fellow-farmers  and  towns-people, 
addressed,  in  the  following  August,  to  the  men  of  Bos- 
ton, which  breathes  the  full  spirit  of  Lexington  and 
Concord  and  Bunker  Hill  conjoined,  not  without  a 
strong  foretaste  of  the  still  distant  4th  of  July.  "  Be 
not  dismayed  nor  disheartened,"  it  says,  "  in  this  great 
day  of  trials.  We  heartily  sympathize  with  you,  and  are 
always  ready  to  do  all  in  our  power  for  your  support, 


22 

comfort,  and  relief;  knowing  that  Providence  has  placed 
you  where  you  must  stand  the  first  shock.  We  consider 
that  we  are  all  embarked  in  one  bottom,  and  must  sink  or 
swim  together.  We  think  if  we  submit  to  those  regula- 
tions, all  is  gone.  Our  forefathers  passed  the  vast  Atlan- 
tic, spent  their  blood  and  treasure,  that  they  might  enjoy 
their  liberties,  both  civil  and  religious,  and  transmit  them 
to  their  posterity.  Their  children  have  waded  through 
seas  of  difficulty,  to  leave  us  free  and  happy  in  the  en- 
joyment of  English  privileges.  Now,  if  we  should  give 
them  up,  can  our  children  rise  up  and  call  us  blessed  ^  Is 
not  a  glorious  death  in  defence  of  our  liberties  better 
than  a  short,  infamous  life,  and  our  memory  to  be  had  in 
detestation  to  the  latest  posterity  1  Let  us  all  be  of  one 
heart,  and  stand  fast  in  the  liberties  wherewith  Christ 
has  made  us  free ;  and  may  he  of  his  infinite  mercy 
grant  us  deliverance  out  of  all  our  troubles." 

No  braver,  nobler  words  than  these  of  Prescott  are 
found  in  all  the  records  of  that  momentous  period. 

And  now,  the  time  having  fully  come  for  testing 
these  pledges  of  readiness  for  the  last  resort  of  an 
oppressed  people,  and  the  voices  of  Joseph  Hawley  and 
Patrick  Henry  having  been  distinctly  heard,  responding 
to  each  other  from  Massachusetts  to  Virginia,  "  We 
must  fight,"  —  Prescott  is  seen  in  command  of  a  regiment 
of  minute-men.  At  the  first  alarm  that  blood  had  been 
shed  at  Lexington,  and  that  fighting  was  still  going  on 
at  Concord,  on  the  19th  of  April,  he  rallies  that  regi- 
ment without  an  instant's  delay,  and  leads  them  at  once 
to  the  scene.  Arriving  too  late  to  join  in  the  pursuit 
of  Lord  Percy  and  his  flying  regulars,  he  proceeds  to 
Cambridge,  and  there  awaits  events,  till,  on  the  follow- 


23 

ing  16th  of  June,  he  receives  the  order  from  General 
Ward  —  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  Massachusetts 
forces,  with  whom  he  had  been  in  constant  communi- 
cation and  consultation  —  to  conduct  the  secret  expe- 
dition which  resulted  in  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill. 

All  that  remains  of  his  career,  after  that  battle  was 
over,  may  be  summarily  despatched.  He  had  origi- 
nally enlisted  for  eight  months,  hoping  and  believing 
that  troops  would  not  be  needed  for  a  longer  period ; 
but  he  continued  in  the  service  until  the  close  of 
1776,  when  Boston  had  been  freed  from  the  enemy, 
when  Independence  had  been  declared,  and  when 
the  war  had  been  transferred  to  other  parts  of  the 
country.  Nor  did  he  leave  it  then,  until  he  had 
commanded  the  garrison  on  Governor's  Island  in  the 
harbor  of  New  York,  and  had  attracted  the  notice 
and  commendation  of  Washington  by  the  good  order 
in  which  he  brought  off  his  regiment,  when  the  Amer- 
ican army  was  compelled  to  retire  from  the  city.  He 
was  then  more  than  fifty  years  old,  and  physical  in- 
firmities incapacitated  him  for  the  saddle.  But  in  the 
autumn  of  1777  he  once  more  appears,  as  a  Volun- 
teer, at  the  battle  which  ended  in  the  surrender  of  Bur- 
goyne ;  and  Trumbull,  the  artist,  who  unconsciously, 
and  to  his  own  often  expressed  regret,  did  him  such 
injustice  in  his  fancy  sketch  of  the  battle  on  this  hill, 
has  made  ample  amends  in  his  picture  of  Burgoyne's 
Surrender,  —  now  in  the  rotunda  of  the  Capitol  at  Wash- 
ington,—  by  giving  him  a  place,  musket  in  hand,  in  the 
principal  group,  next  to  the  gallant  Morgan  of  the  Vir- 
ginia Riflemen,  whose  statue,  by  a  striking  coincidence, 
has  just  been  unveiled  at  the  Cowpens,  at  the  Centen- 


24 

nial  celebration  of  that  great  South  Carolina  battle  of 
which  Morgan  was  the  hero,  as  Prescott  was  the  hero 
of  this.  No  two  men  are  more  worthy  to  stand  side 
by  side  in  our  National  Historic  gallery  than  William 
Prescott  and  Daniel  Morgan.^  Honor — joint  honor  — 
to  the  memories  of  them  both  in  all  time  to  come,  from 
every  tongue  and  every  heart  throughout  our  land ! 

Again  Prescott  withdraws  to  his  farm  at  Pepperell, 
where  he  constantly  exhibits  a  vigilant  interest,  and 
exercises  a  wholesome  influence,  in  the  affairs  of  the 
town  and  of  the  State,  serving  his  fellow-citizens  as  a 
Magistrate  and  a  Selectman,  coming  down  to  Boston  in 
three  several  years  as  their  Representative  in  the  State 
Legislature,  and  once  more,  buckling  on  his  sword,  it  is 
said,  during  Shays'  Rebellion  in  1787,  to  defend  the 
courts  of  justice  at  Concord.  A  man  of  strong  mind, 
determined  will,  benevolent  as  he  was  brave,  liberal  even 
beyond  his  means,  of  courteous  manners,  the  pride  of 
his  neighborhood,  delighting  to  show  kindness  and  hos- 
pitality to  his  old  fellow-soldiers,  he  died  at  length  on 
the  13th  of  October,  1795,  on  the  verge  of  threescore 
years  and  ten,  and  was  buried  with  military  honors. 

He  left  a  name,  I  need  not  say,  not  only  to  be  hon- 
ored in  its  own  right,  as  long  as  Bunker  Hill  shall  be 
a  watchword  of  heroism  and  patriotism  in  our  land,  but 
to  be  borne,  as  it  has  been,  with  eminent  distinction 
by  his  only  son,  the  learned  and  admirable  judge  and 
jurist,  and  by  his  accomplished  and  distinguished  grand- 
son, beloved  by  all  who  knew  him,  whose  "  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,"  and  "  Conquest  of  Mexico  and  Peru,"  and 
"  History  of  Philip  II.,"  were  the  earliest  triumphs  in 

^  Note  A  at  the  end. 


25 

American  historical  literature,  and  were  achieved  under 
infirmities  and  trials  that  would  have  daunted  any 
heart,  which  had  not  inherited  a  full  measure  of  the 
bravery  we  are  here  to  commemorate. 

Nor  may  I  wholly  omit  to  recognize  the  interest 
added  to  this  occasion,  by  the  presence  of  a  venerable 
lady,  —  his  only  surviving  grandchild,  —  who,  apart 
from  those  personal  gifts  and  graces  to  which  I  should 
not  be  pardoned  for  alluding,  brings  to  the  memories  of 
this  hour  another  illustrious  name  in  American  history, 
—  the  name  of  Dexter,  —  associated,  in  one  genera- 
tion, with  high  national  service  in  the  kSenate  and  in 
the  Cabinet,  and,  in  two  generations,  with  eminent 
legal  learning,  ability,  and  eloquence. 

But  I  must  not  dwell  longer  on  any  personal  topics, 
however  attractive,  and  must  hasten  to  a  conclusion  of 
this  address. 

I  have  said,  fellow-citizens,  that  we  were  here,  to- 
day, to  fulfil  a  long-postponed  obligation,  to  pay  a 
long-deferred  debt.  But  let  me  not  be  thought  for  a 
moment  to  imply,  that  there  is  anything  really  lost, 
anything  really  to  be  regretted,  as  we  now  unveil  this 
noble  Statue,  and  hail  it  henceforth,  for  all  years  to 
come,  as  the  frontispiece  and  figure-head  of  this  con- 
secrated ground.  The  lapse  of  time  may  have  evinced 
a  want  of  quick  appreciation  on  the  part  of  others,  but 
it  has  taken  away  nothing  from  the  merits  or  the  just 
renown  of  Prescott.  On  the  contrary,  it  has  given  an 
additional  and  most  impressive  significance  to  this  me- 
morial, far  more  than  a  compensation  for  any  delay  in 
its  erection. 

4 


26 

I  would  by  no  means  undervalue  or  disparage  the 
spontaneous  tributes  which  so  often,  of  late,  have  im- 
mediately followed  the  deaths  of  distinguished  men, 
here  and  elsewhere,  and  which  are  fast  adorning  so 
many  of  the  public  squares  and  parks  of  our  country 
—  at  Washington,  at  New  York,  and  in  Boston,  as  well 
as  in  other  of  our  great  cities  —  with  the  bronze  or 
marble  forms  of  those  who  have  been  lost  to  our  civil 
or  military  service.  Such  manifestations  are  possible 
in  our  day  and  generation,  when  wealth  is  so  abun- 
dant, and  when  art  is  so  prolific.  They  would  have 
been  all  but  impossible,  for  us,  a  century,  or  even  half 
a  century,  ago.  They  do  honor  to  the  men  who  are 
the  subjects  of  them.  They  do  honor  to  the  natural 
and  irrepressible  emotions  which  prompt  them.  Like 
the  decorations  of  the  Soldiers'  Graves,  or  the  dedica- 
tion of  the  Soldiers'  Homes,  they  challenge  and  receive 
the  sympathies  of  all  our  hearts.  They  are,  however, 
the  manifestations  of  the  moment,  and  bespeak  but  the 
impulses  of  the  hour. 

But  when  it  was  my  privilege,  just  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago,  to  inaugurate,  and  give  the  word  for  un- 
veiling, the  first  bronze  statue  which  had  ever  been 
erected  in  the  open  air  within  the  limits  of  Boston, 
and  when  I  reflected  that  nearly  seventy  years  had 
then  elapsed  since  the  death,  and  more  than  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years  since  the  birth,  of  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin, whom  that  statue  so  admirably  portrayed  ;  when, 
more  recently,  the  statue  of  Samuel  Adams  was  un- 
veiled at  the  old  North  End  of  our  city,  nearly  eighty 
years  after  his  death,  and  almost  a  hundred  and  fifty 
years   after  his  birth ;  and  when,  later  still,  two  hun- 


27 

dred  and  ninety-two  years  after  his  birth,  and  two 
hundred  and  thirty-one  years  after  his  death,  the  statue 
of  John  Winthrop  was  seen  standing  in  yonder  Scollay 
Square,  with  the  charter  of  Massachusetts  in  his  hand, 
looking  out  upon  the  great  city,  of  more  than  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabitants,  which  he  had 
founded,  —  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  an  accumu- 
lated interest,  an  enhanced  and  augmented  glory,  would 
gather  around  those  memorials  for  every  year  which 
had  been  allowed  to  pass  since  they  were  so  richly 
deserved ;  and  that  the  judgment  of  posterity  had  at 
last  confirmed  and  ratified  the  award,  which  history 
had  long  ago  pronounced,  upon  the  merits  of  those 
whom  they  represented. 

And  so  again,  emphatically,  here,  to-day,  in  inaugu- 
rating this  splendid  statue  of  William  Prescott,  eighty- 
six  years  after  he  was  laid  in  his  humble  grave,  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty-five  years  after  his  birth,  and  a  hundred 
and  six  years  after  he  stood,  where  we  now  stand,  in 
command  of  this  momentous  battle,  we  may  all  well 
feel  that  the  tribute  has  not  come  a  day  too  late  for  his 
per^nanent  fame  and  glory.  We  may  even  rejoice  that 
no  partial  or  premature  commemoration  of  him  had  anti- 
cipated the  hour,  when  not  only  the  wealth  of  our  com- 
munity, and  the  advancement  of  American  art,  should 
suffice  for  an  adequate  and  durable  presentment  of  his 
heroic  form,  but  when  the  solid  judgment  of  posterity 
should  have  sanctioned  and  confirmed  the  opinions  of 
our  best  historians,  founded  on  the  most  careful  com- 
parison of  the  most  distinct  contemporary  records. 
We  recognize  in  such  results  that  History  is  indeed 
the  great  corrector,  the  grand  decider,  the  irreversible 


28 

umpire,  the  magic  touchstone,  of  truth.  An  august 
Posthumous  Tribunal,  like  that  of  the  ancient  Egyp- 
tians, seems  to  rise  before  us,  open  to  every  appeal, 
subject  to  no  statute  of  limitations,  —  to  which  the 
prejudices  of  the  moment,  or  the  passions  of  the  multi- 
tude, are  but  as  the  light  dust  of  the  balance,  —  and 
pronouncing  its  solemn  and  final  decisions,  upon  the 
careers  and  characters  of  all  whom  it  summons  to  the 
bar  of  its  impartial  and  searching  scrutiny. 

Nor  can  there  be,  my  friends,  any  higher  incentive 
to  honest,  earnest,  patriotic  effort,  whether  in  the  field 
or  in  the  forum,  than  such  evidences,  and  such  assur- 
ances, that  whatever  misapprehensions  or  neglects  may 
occur  at  the  moment,  and  though  offices  and  honors, 
portraits  and  statues,  may  be  withheld  or  postponed, 
the  record  will  not  be  lost,  truth  will  not  perish,  nor 
posterity  fail  to  do  that  justice,  which  the  jealousy,  or 
the  ignorance,  or,  it  may  be  only,  the  inability,  of  con- 
temporaries may  have  left  undone. 

It  is  a  most  interesting  part  of  the  story  of  this  day, 
that  when  Prescott  proceeded  to  the  headquarters  of  his 
commander-in-chief.  General  Ward,  at  Cambridge,  and 
reported  the  results  of  the  expedition  which  he  had 
been  ordered  to  conduct,  and  had  conducted,  he  added, 
perhaps  rashly,  but  with  characteristic  courage  and 
confidence,  that  if  he  could  only  have  three  fresh 
regiments,  with  sufficient  equipments  and  ammunition, 
he  would  return  and  retake  the  hill.  I  know  not 
whether  he  was  ever  on  this  spot  again,  from  that  hour 
to  the  present.  But  he  is  here  at  last!  Thanks  to  the 
generosity    of    our   public-spirited   fellow-citizens,    and 


29     « 

thanks,  still  more,  to  the  consummate  skill  of  a  most 
accomplished  American  artist,  —  second  to  no  living 
sculptor  of  the  world,  —  who  has  given  his  whole  heart, 
as  well  as  the  exquisite  cunning  of  his  hand,  to  the  work, 
—  he  is  here  at  last,  "  in  his  habit  as  he  lived  !" 

And  now,  before  I  proceed  with  any  poor  words  of 
my  own,  let  the  Statue  speak  for  itself,  and  display  the 
noble  form  which  has  too  long  been  concealed  from 
your  impatient  sight ! 

[_The  statue  teas  here  unveiled.'\ 

The  genius  of  Story  presents  him  to  us  now,  in  the 
light  hanyan  coat  and  broad-brimmed  hat,  which  he  is 
known  to  have  thrown  on,  during  the  intense  heat  of 
the  day  and  of  the  battle,  in  exchange  for  the  more 
stately  and  cumbrous  uniform  in  which  he  had  marched 
from  Cambridge  the  night  before,  and  which  may  be 
seen  dropped  beneath  his  feet.  His  eagle  gaze  is 
riveted  with  intense  energy  on  the  close-approaching 
foe.  With  his  left  hand,  he  is  hushing  and  holding 
back  the  impetuous  soldiers  under  his  command,  to 
await  his  word.  With  his  right  hand,  he  is  just  ready 
to  lift  the  sword  which  is  to  be  their  signal  for  action. 
The  marked  and  well-remembered  features,  which  he 
transmitted  to  his  son  and  grandson,  and  which  may 
be  recognized  on  at  least  one  of  his  living  descendants, 
have  enabled  the  artist  to  supply,  amply  and  admirably, 
the  want  of  any  original  portrait  of  himself.  Nothing 
more  powerful  and  living  has  been  seen  on  this  hill 
since  he  was  here  before.  And  that  very  sword, — 
which  so  long  adorned  the  library  walls  of  his  grand- 
son, —  the  Historian,  —  and  which  is  now  one  of  the 


30 

treasures  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  —  one 
of  those  "  Crossed  Swords  "  whose  romantic  story  has 
so  often  been  told  in  verse  and  in  prose,^ —  that  same 
sword,  which,  tradition  tells  us,  he  waved  where  he  now 
stands,  when,  seeing  at  length  "  the  buttons  on  the 
coats,'  or,  it  may  have  been,  "  the  whites  of  the  eyes," 
of  the  advancing  enemy  in  their  original  onslaught,  he 
first  gave  the  word  "Fire!"  —  that  same  sword  I  am 
privileged  to  hold  up  at  this  moment  to  your  view ;  — 
if,  indeed,  I  shall  be  able  to  hold  it,  while  it  seems  ready 
to  leap  from  its  scabbard,  and  to  fly  from  my  hand,  to 
salute  and  welcome  its  brave  old  master  and  wearer ! 
No  blade  which  ever  came  from  the  forges  of  Damascus, 
Toledo,  or  Genoa,  was  ever  witness  to  greater  personal 
perils,  or  was  ever  wielded  by  a  bolder  arm. 

Prescott  stands  alone  here  now.  But  our  little  Mu- 
seum—  to  be  reconstructed,  I  trust,  at  no  distant  day, 
of  enduring  materials  and  adequate  dimensions  —  already 
contains  a  marble  statue  of  the  glorious  Warren.  The 
great  first  martyr  of  the  Revolution,  and  the  heroic 
commander  of  this  earliest  revolutionary  battle,  are 
now  both  in  place.  Around  them,  on  other  parts  of  the 
hill,  in  other  years,  some  of  the  gallant  leaders  who 
rushed  to  their  aid  from  other  States,  or  from  other  parts 
of  our  own  State,  will,  it  is  hoped,  be  seen,  —  Pomeroy, 
and  Stark,  and  Reed,  and  Knowlton,  with  Putnam  at  the 
head  of  them  all.  They  will  all  be  welcome,  whenever 
they  may  come.  Primarily  a  Massachusetts  battle,  it  was 
peculiarly,  also,  a  ]S"ew  England  battle ;  and  all  New 
England  might  well  be    represented  on  these  Heights. 

1  Note  B  at  the  end. 


31 

But  the  pre-eminent  honors  of  this  occasion  are  paid,  as 
they  are  due,  —  and  long,  long  overdue,  —  to  our  grand 
Massachusetts,  Middlesex,  farmer  and  Patriot. 

He  has  returned  ;  —  not  with  three  fresh  regiments 
only,  as  he  proposed,  but  with  the  acclamations  of  every 
soldier  and  every  citizen  within  the  sound  of  what  is 
being  said,  or  within  any  knowledge  of  what  is  being 
done,  here,  to-day.  He  has  retaken  Bunker  Hill;  and, 
with  it,  the  hearts  of  all  who  are  gathered  on  it  at  this 
hour,  or  who  shall  be  gathered  upon  it,  generation  after 
generation,  in  all  the  untold  centuries  of  the  future ! 


32 


Note  A  (page  24). 

Daniel  Morgan,  the  hero  of  the  Cowpens,  was  early  in  the 
Continental  camp  during  the  siege  of  Boston.  The  following 
most  interesting  account  of  his  arrival  at  Cambridge  is  taken  from 
the  speech  of  Judge  Christian,  of  the  Virginia  Supreme  Court  of 
Appeals,  at  the  recent  unveiling  of  Morgan's  statue  at  the  Cow- 
pens  :  — 

"  As  soon  as  the  Revolutionary  war  broke  out,  living  then  at 
Winchester  in  the  State  of  Virginia,  he  raised  a  company  of  hardy 
mountaineers,  containing  ninety-six  men,  called  the  '  Morgan  Ri- 
fles.' Their  uniform  was  a  hunting  shirt,  on  the  breast  of  which 
were  stitched  in  letters  by  their  wives,  mothers,  and  sweethearts 
the  words,  '  Liberty  or  Death ! '  He  marched  with  this  company 
six  hundred  miles  to  Boston,  where  Washington  was  then  in  com- 
mand of  the  Continental  forces.  Arriving  near  Boston  late  in  the 
evening,  his  company  were  resting  under  the  shade,  after  their  long 
march,  when  Morgan  saw  Washington  riding  out  alone.  He  had 
been  with  Washington  at  Braddock's  defeat,  and  recognized  him 
at  once.  He  drew  up  his  men  into  line  as  Washington  approached, 
and  Morgan  saluting  him,  said :  '  General,  I  come  six  hundred  miles 
from  the  right  bank  of  the  Potomac  and  bring  to  you  these  gallant 
men,  every  one  of  whom  knows  how  to  shoot  a  rifle,  and  every  one 
of  whom  knows  how  to  die  for  liberty ;  for  you  see,  sir,  that  each 
man  bears  his  banner  upon  his  breast  —  "Liberty  or  Death!  "  ' 

"  Histoi-y  records  that  the  great  Washington,  leaping  upon  the 
ground  from  his  horse,  went  down  the  line  and  shook  hands  with 
every  man  of  Morgan's  riflemen,  and,  the  tears  streaming'  down  his 
face,  remounted  his  horse  and  rode  off"  without  saying  a  word." 


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33 


Note  B  (page  30). 

"  The  Crossed  Swokds,"  which  were  hung  for  many  years  in 
the  Hbrary  of  the  historian  Prescott,  "  in  token  of  international 
friendship  and  family  alliance,"  are  now  arranged  over  the  doors 
of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society's  Library  on  a  tablet,  of 
which  a  heliotype  is  here  given,  with  inscriptions  which  tell  their 
story. 

They  had  previously  appeared  in  literature  in  Thackeray's 
great  Novel  "  The  Virginians,"  the  introduction  to  which  is  as 
follows :  — 

"  On  the  library  wall  of  one  of  the  most  famous  writers  of  Amer- 
ica there  hang  two  crossed  swords,  which  his  relatives  wore  in  the 
great  war  of  Independence.  The  one  sword  was  gallantly  drawn 
in  the  service  of  the  king,  the  other  was  the  weapon  of  a  brave  and 
honored  republican  soldier.  The  possessor  of  the  harmless  trophy 
has  earned  for  himself  a  name  alike  honored  in  his  ancestor's  coun- 
try and  his  own,  where  genius  such  as  his  has  always  a  peaceful 
welcome.  The  ensuing  history  reminds  me  of  yonder  swords  in 
the  historian's  study  at  Boston.  In  the  Revolutionary  war,  the 
subjects  of  this  story,  natives  of  America,  and  children  of  the  Old 
Dominion,  found  themselves  engaged  on  different  sides  in  the  quar- 
rel, coming  together  peaceably  at  its  conclusion,  as  brethren  should, 
their  love  never  having  materially  diminished,  however  angrily  the 
contest  divided  them.  The  colonel  in  scarlet,  and  the  general  in 
blue  and  buff,  hang  side  by  side  in  the  wainscoted  parlor  of  the 
Warringtons,  in  England." 

They  were  afterwards  the  subject  of  some  charming  lines  by 
Rev.  Dr.  N.  L.  Frothingham,  read  by  himself  at  a  meeting  of  the 
Massachusetts  Historical  Society  in  1859. 


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